Second Position

The first time I put my mat there.
I didn’t think it meant anything.  

Lila wasn’t even in class that day.
I was early and took the front middle spot.
The studio was quiet.
Pale oak beneath my toes.
Eucalyptus and dry shampoo in the air.
I watched myself warming up.
Like a distant observer filming myself.
A scientist, maybe. A warden.  

Every correction seen.
Nerves sliding electric with tension.
My reflection sharpening on each breath.
I looked like someone in control.
The longer I stood there,
the more I felt something that wasn’t me.  

She came back the next morning.
Said nothing.
Took a spot in the back.
But I felt her watching. Me. Herself.
Her movements still flawless.
Better than mine.
Synced to my reflection.

And the days repeated.  

There was something about Lila.
Her form always there.
Mechanical, almost.
Like a doll with perfect joints.
She never looked tired.
Her legs never shook.
A body behaving as it should.

It wasn’t rivalry.
I’d already done that.
At school, with work, in dating.
In the precise mathematics of
calorie counting and outfit planning.
Not out of vanity.
To win.

A week passed.

Lila cut her hair.
Short.
Like mine.

Time began to slip.

Class bled into class.
Distinctions thinned.  

Our shoulders started to slope the same.
Same angle, same tension.
My voice no longer mine
dragged into her cadence.
Slow, low, upward questioning.
Breath timed to a single metronome.
Always in conversation
but barely speaking.

Then it caught.  

My teacher complimented my turnout.
The girl at the front desk knew my name.
Someone asked where I got my leggings.
My songs echoed through the room.
I adjusted my bra strap,
three others followed.
Not imitation. Replication.
A system working perfectly.

Pulse.
Pulse.
Pulse.

I stopped going to work.
I told myself it was rest.
But I only existed here now.
The studio was where I knew how to be.

Then one morning I walked in
and someone else was in my spot.
She had Lila’s legs.
My hoodie.
Her water bottle.
My hair.
I smiled at her.
She smiled back.
Not kindly. Not cruelly.
Just knowingly.

Yes. This is how it happens.
No one begins it.
No one is in control.

I moved to the back.  

I still go every morning.
My turnout is perfect.
I barely exist.